Shopping In Dale
by GreyLadyBast
Summary: COMPLETE! Inspired by one of Evil Old Woman's stories, two unusual patrons ask to hear the story of a shopkeeper in Dale, and the blade that is not for sale.
1. Default Chapter

A/N—this is DIRECTLY inspired by Evil Old Woman's "How Legolas and Gimli first got to be friends". Some of it is ripped off from that fic wholesale, thought I prefer to think of it as "keeping continuity". Thanks so very much to EOW, and of course to Tolkien for getting me into this mess in the first place. BTW, yes this is EXACTLY how a harried shop worker having that kind of day would react. I know, I've worked retail in various forms my entire working life. So be nice to service personnel.  
  
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The bell chimed as the shop door opened. Margaretta Stronginthearm frowned without turning around. Her display was not coming along the way she wanted. She needed time to adjust it properly, but the doorbell kept ringing. Each customer meant another interruption. She found herself resenting them, especially as not one of them had actually bought anything. No one had even brought their weapons in for repair or maintenance . Not a soul to walk through her door had parted with a so much as a penny before walking out again. They just demanded her time, attention and more patience than she could muster at the moment.  
  
She wondered, as she often did, just how her father had managed to talk her into taking over the shop. Wasn't the eldest son supposed to go into the weapons business once Father retired? Margaretta had not one, but two older brothers, either of whom should have been saddled with this place. But no….one ran off in search of adventure and came home in a sack, and the other was a drunk suitable for nothing beyond propping up doorjams. But Margaretta had helped in the store since she could walk, and shown a talent for weapons design at an early age besides, so Father dumped the business on her when he and Mother moved south to retire. Some inheritance.  
  
The shopwoman could hear two voices as her customers entered. She groaned, knowing this would most likely mean an hour spent playing mediator between arguing mates. Honestly, Margaretta sometimes felt she spent more time counseling then swordsmithing or shopkeeping. And the same-sex "war buddy" pairs were worse than the couples! Each one always knew everything about what kind of weapon their pal needed, which was more often than not only what they themselves would buy if any of these deadbeats ever had money to spend. And the pal NEVER wanted to take their comrade's advice, as they seemed to think it indicated weakness or some other inscrutable, warrior- feared flaw. Why one should fear appearing weak while choosing a weapon in front of someone who'd most likely seen them bleed all over the place was beyond Margaretta. Such were the ways of the Sword Buying Public, she supposed.  
  
Though she's really rather finish her display, Margaretta knew that without her clientele, she'd have no business at all, artistic arrangements or not. So, sighing with reluctance, she climbed down off her ladder, adjusted her How May I Help You Face, and turned to greet her customers. 


	2. chapter 2

"Well, that's not something you see every day," Margaretta thought to herself as she surveyed her customers, an elf and a dwarf. Oh, the dwarf was a common enough sight in Dale, and elves were showing up more than they used to, but never in each other's company. The races had not been outwardly antagonistic since the end of the War, but they seldom interacted. When they did, it was with a certain strained undercurrent, a sort of "let's get this over with quickly so we can go our separate ways" feeling. So the easy camaraderie between this pair made them doubly unusual.  
  
They were currently bantering back and forth in front of the main wall of swords. Their attention was focused primarily on the centerpiece of the display, a Nargothondian beauty of special significance.  
  
"I cannot imagine why this has never sold," the dwarf commented. "Such a magnificent weapon must want an owner."  
  
"So purchase it for yourself. You have the money now," the elf suggested dryly.  
  
The dwarf shot the elf a look that implied he was mad for suggesting such a thing. "I am quite content with my axe," he huffed. He softened as he gazed at the sword. "Though I did want this blade very badly, once," he continued.  
  
The elf nodded. "As did I," he said. "Discussing this blade was one of the things to spark our friendship, if you remember."  
  
"And well I do," the dwarf said. A dangerous gleam came into his eye. "Why don't you purchase this sword, Master Elf?" he asked oh-so- innocently.  
  
"I have all the weapons I will ever need, as well you know," the elf replied.  
  
"Perhaps for that maiden you so studiously avoid speaking of, then?" the dwarf teased.  
  
The banter was now showing signs of going on indefinitely, as well as possibly turning nasty. While these two particular examples of their races seemed polite enough, even friendly, Margaretta's experience with bickering dwarves and elves was not good. She decided it was time to tactfully intervene.  
  
"May I show you sirs anything? Axes? Bows? We have some lovely Haradrim scimitars, from many of the different kingdoms," she interrupted smoothly, just as the elf was opening his mouth to reply.  
  
He closed his mouth and smiled at her. Suddenly, Margaretta understood why all the girls she knew were hopelessly elf-fixated. The beauty of this elf made her feel dumpy and self-conscious. She blushed.  
  
The dwarf noticed her discomfort. He had come to expect this reaction from females when they met his elf. "Greetings, Mistress," he said, taking the shopkeeper's hand and kissing it. "We are looking for Masters Burleigh or Stronginthearm."  
  
That was what Margaretta loved best about dwarves—they were so polite, especially to women. She kept designing axes and short, heavy swords primarily because of that politeness. It often occurred to her that men could stand to learn something from the dwarves.  
  
"Greetings, Master Dwarf," Margaretta replied in his language. She did not have much more dwarvish than that, at least not the kind she could use in respectable company, but she had found that dwarves spent more if she greeted them in their own tongue. It had taken three weeks of a badly mangled throat to learn that phrase, but she considered the effort worthwhile. "Master Burleigh is vacationing," she continued, switching to Westron, "and Master Stronginthearm retired south some years ago. I am his daughter, Margaretta. I run the shop these days. How may I help you?"  
  
The elf arched his eyebrows and looked her over. "A woman, running a weapons dealership?" he asked, sounding sarcastic to Margaretta's frustrated ears. Honestly, he should know better. The shopkeeper knew full well that elf women were considered the equal of their men, limited only by their own talents and drives. Why did he automatically assume she was not competent to run this business? Really, it was as bad as what she could expect from the males of her own species!  
  
The dwarf shot the elf an undecipherable look. "Come, now, Master Elf. If her father deemed her worthy to run this establishment, then worthy she is. Or do you not trust Master Stronginthearm's judgment?" he asked with a grin.  
  
The elf bristled. "I never said that," he protested, "Nor did I say that she is unqualified. I am merely surprised men have at last become so civilized toward their women."  
  
"They haven't," Margaretta replied, unable to disguise her sourness. "But since Master Burleigh vouches for me, and because there truly is no other in town to take over the store, they tolerate me."  
  
The dwarf nodded, and patted her arm. "Do not despair, Mistress. Some day, men will realize the wisdom of the elves," he said.  
  
Now THAT surprised Margaretta. A dwarf, complimenting the elves on their wisdom? Unheard of! Just what sort of dwarf was she dealing with? What sort of elf? 


	3. chapter 3

"No matter," Margaretta thought to herself, surveying her odd customers. "So long as they buy something, I care not if they share each other's bed, let alone camaraderie. Still, 'tis an odd thing, this dwarf and this elf. Perhaps it's a symptom of the new Age. No matter, so long as their gold is good and they spend it here."  
  
The shopkeeper's thoughts did not show on her face. She'd learned through hard experience that the sword-buying public had no interested at all in her opinion. Her regular clientele valued her expertise on weaponry, of course, but naught beyond. And browsers, as a rule, did not even grant her that much.  
  
"May I show you good sirs anything?" Margaretta asked again. She wanted very much to turn the conversation toward business. If she did not sell something today, she felt she would explode. She had had the care of her drunkard brother's son ever since the Dale authorities caught him trying to trade the child for drink. A growing boy ate an astonishing amount. Worse, this morning she discovered he needed new shoes, and they would not pay for themselves. Margaretta simply had to get the dwarf, the elf, or both, preferably both, to buy something. Anything except the Nargothondian.  
  
"My companion would like to see this blade, m'lady," the dwarf replied in his wonderful brogue, gesturing toward the Nargothondian. "He would like it for his lady friend." The elf shot his partner a look, but did not deny it.  
  
The one item in the shop Margaretta would not part with, and of course that was what they wanted. Customers! "I am terribly sorry, but that is not for sale, good sirs. Perhaps something else? Axes? Arrows? I have just received a shipment from the Eastern lands, very rare," she said, attempting to redirect their interest.  
  
The elf's eyebrows shot up. "Not for sale? Why ever would such a magnificent weapon be unavailable?" he asked, turning his full attention on the shopkeeper. She blushed right to her hairline, but did not back down.  
  
"It is for display only, Master Elf," she muttered, pulling her gaze from his with effort. Elves truly were too beautiful for the good of mere mortals.  
  
"That does not answer my question, Mistress Stronginthearm," he countered. He was nothing if not persistent.  
  
"Surely such a beauty would fetch a splendid price," the dwarf chimed in. It was all Margaretta could do not to growl at him. Why were they fixated on this blade? It was lovely, yes, but she did have others just as impressive.  
  
Still, confrontation did not move merchandise. Even if the customers today were determined to drive her crazy, she would NOT lose her patience. "It would indeed, Master Dwarf, if it were for sale. As it is not, that is a moot point. May I show you something else?"  
  
"I would prefer to know why the Nargothondian is not for sale," the elf insisted. Honestly, were any of these people going to do anything other than waste her time? She had better things to do than tell the tale of that sword. In truth, it was not a period of her life she enjoyed revisiting, for all the display was a constant reminder.  
  
"Master Elf, that is not a tale for strangers nor customers. Are you certain I cannot show you anything?" Margaretta said.  
  
The elf did not reply right away. He stared at her, taking her measure and bringing another blush. The dwarf glanced up at him, plainly wondering what he was up to. "Mistress Stronginthearm," he said at last, "I am Legolas, and my friend is Gimli. There, we are strangers no longer. Now will you tell us your tale?"  
  
Margaretta's eyes popped. "Legolas?" she squeaked. "Gimli? Of the Fellowship?" The story of the Fellowship of the Ring was a complete secret, so of course tales of their exploits had spread the length and breadth of Middle Earth. Never in her wildest dreams did she expect two of them to appear in her humble shop. As well to expect the King himself, or his Lady Queen in here as these two! Then again, this pair were said to be compatriots of King Elessar, so perhaps that was no longer so far-fetched a thought. Just wait until her friends heard this! No more would the men of Dale whisper that she had no business running a weapons shop. If only she could persuade them to purchase something. Then she could claim their patronage. Never again would Halorec lack for shoes. It seemed she would not get out of telling her tale after all. 


	4. chapter 4

"Well, it is not every day legends walk into my shop, so I suppose it would not do to disappoint them. Unless I can turn your interest to blades or bows?" Margaretta asked, not really expecting to get her way. Sure enough, the elf---Master Legolas, she supposed she should think of him now---shot her a determined look. The dwarf---that would be Master Gimli, must get those names correct---laughed uproariously.  
  
"You ARE a determined one, are you not, Mistress Stronginthearm! You take after your father," he commented, his laughter fading to chuckles.  
  
"You have no idea," she replied dryly as she flipped the sign in the window to 'Closed'. This tale would be a long time in the telling, and it would not do to be interrupted now that she had been cornered into telling it. No paying customers had stepped through her doors all day anyway, so it was not like she would be losing business. Let those who simply wanted to kill time in a shop do so elsewhere. She had a tale to tell, and legends to entice into spending at her shop.  
  
"Perhaps after we hear your tale, we will inspect your goods," Master Legolas said. Margaretta beamed. Maybe Halorec would get those Ranger boots he'd been drooling over, rather than plain, inexpensive shoes, after all.  
  
"Yes, you do still have that present to buy, do you not, Master Elf?" Master Gimli teased. Master Legolas rolled his eyes in a long-suffering look, but said nothing. Instead, he turned his smile on Margaretta, bringing yet another blush.  
  
"Let me make you some tea, please. Storytelling is thirsty work, and so is listening. So is shopping, for that matter, whether for presents or otherwise," the shopwoman said, disappearing into the back room without waiting for a reply. She was stalling, yes, but she truly did need a chance to collect her thoughts. She never expected to be waiting on heroes at all, let alone telling her bloody tale to them! And that elf! He made her blush like an untried maiden, and Margaretta was on the wrong side of THAT by more than two decades.  
  
As she puttered around the small kitchen she kept in the back of the shop, in order to prepare refreshments during long negotiations with picky clients, she pondered her maiden days. If someone had told her then that she'd do the things she'd done, let alone be telling the story to two of the most famous names of her time, she would've called that someone a liar to their face. Yet here she was, preparing to do just that. Strange the turns life took, sometimes.  
  
All too quickly, the tea was prepared. Margaretta had gotten out her best tea set, the rare mithril one kept for nobility or very rich merchants. She brewed the finest tea available, set out fresh milk, honey and some of her precious sugar, along with a fine selection of cookies and tarts, all made with her own hands and all of quality surpassing even the royal cooks'. Most people seemed to believe a woman weapons dealer would be useless in the kitchen. Margaretta Stronginthearm delighted in proving most people wrong.  
  
Master Legolas and Master Gimli were no longer inspecting the Nargothondian when she reentered the main portion of the shop. Instead, their banter was focused on the blade holding a place of honor next to it. The sword in question was rather plain, in an elegant sort of way. It was a lighter design, suitable for a boy's first real sword, or perhaps a shieldmaiden, and the blade showed signs of hard use. The craftsmanship, however, was every bit as impressive as the Nargothondian's.  
  
"Definitely, Legolas. If she will not sell the Nargothondian, then this is the blade for your lady," the dwarf was saying.  
  
"Gimli, I do wish you would let that go," Master Legolas sighed.  
  
"Never! 'Tis too rich a mine for jokes. And besides, one of these days you will have to get off your elvish..."  
  
"Tea's ready!" Margaretta called cheerily, pretending not to notice she'd interrupted. Master Legolas smiled gratefully. Master Gimli guffawed as if he'd gotten the better of his elf. Margaretta was just glad not to have to hear what elvish thing Legolas would have to get off of, nor why. She set the tea tray down on a low table near a window, and placed three chairs, one dwarf-sized, around it. Legolas and Gimli exchanged an amused glance as she fussed with the pillows. Presently, the shopkeeper could stall no longer.  
  
"Please, have a seat. Try a cookie, or a tart. I made them myself. How would you like your tea? Or would you prefer to do it yourselves? Please, feel at home here," Margaretta babbled. Honestly, what was wrong with her? It was like her wits had flown. This would never do.  
  
Legolas and Gimli each helped themselves to a pasty. Margaretta poured the tea, passed the cups around, and took a cookie. "Are you certain you wish to hear this? 'Tis not a nice story," she tried yet again. She really did not want to relive this portion of her life, but if it would net her the sale.....  
  
"I would like to hear the tale, Mistress," Master Legolas said softly.  
  
"Indeed, Mistress Stronginthearm. I also would like to know why such a strong and intelligent lady would not part with the Nargothondian," Gimli agreed.  
  
That was enough to dispel Margaretta's lingering resistance. Even at her age, the shopkeeper was still a handsome woman. She was used to being complimented on her looks by males who thought to drive her prices down that way. It never worked, but that didn't stop them trying. Dwarves, on the other hand, never failed to notice strength and intelligence in females. To have the most famous dwarf in the land complimenting her on hers warmed Margaretta right to her bones. She'd always loved dwarves, and this was just one more reason why. She could not put off telling him her tale any longer, however painful it may be. 


	5. chapter 5

"Well, good sirs, if you had ever shopped here when my father ran things, you know that the Nargothondian was his pride," Margaretta began her tale.  
  
"My good Mistress, EVERYONE who knew your father when he ran things knew how highly he valued that sword," Master Gimli interrupted, laughing. "He certainly set the price high enough, though I could never quite figure out why. 'Tis a treasure of a blade, to be sure, but Master Stronginthearm priced it out of the reach of all but a king."  
  
Margaretta restrained her bristle on her father's behalf. She took a deep breath and instead replied, "He did that to discourage purchasers, without letting them know he did not wish to sell it. If you wish to hear his reasons for keeping it, you'll have to find him in the south, where he retired, and have him tell you his story. My father's emotional attachment to that blade is not my reason for refusing to sell, for when he left me the store, he left me the blade to do with as I would. If he had not wanted me to sell it, he would have taken it with him."  
  
"Indeed, Mistress. Please, continue your tale," Master Legolas said, giving his dwarf a meaningful glance. Master Gimli nodded and smiled, sipping his tea.  
  
"Of course," Margaretta said, taking a sip of her own. "As I said, the Nargothondian was my father's favorite, but when he retired, he left it here in the shop for me to sell. I did not lower the price, as by then my clientele was used to it and I thought it bad business to change their expectations of my prices and quality. So the blade hung on the wall for what seemed like forever. Which was thoroughly annoying at the time, but turned out to be most fortuitous. If the sword had sold, it would not have been there when I needed it."  
  
"And what did you need it for, Mistress?" Master Gimli asked eagerly.  
  
"Peace, good Gimli," Master Legolas waved him quiet. "Mistress Stronginthearm is establishing background and building suspense, as all good storytellers do. I sense something of the frustrated bard in you, good lady ," he said, smiling at her. Margaretta blushed yet again. How could this elf possibly know of her childhood ambition to be a bard? She only gave it up because her father insisted she take over the shop. Perhaps what they said was true, that elves could see into a person's soul. Margaretta sincerely hoped not! She hastily reached for a tart, to cover her blushes.  
  
"Why, Master Elf, I do believe you have embarrassed our good hostess. Shame on you!" Master Gimli rumbled, grinning cheerfully as he, too, reached for another tart. The dwarf took two, and passed one to the elf. "Say something to make up for it. Compliment her on her cooking. These tarts are wonderful, are they not, Legolas?"  
  
"They are indeed exquisite, Mistress. My apologies if I have offended," Master Legolas dutifully said, giving Margaretta a wink where Master Gimli could not see. The shopkeeper nearly spit out her mouthful of tea. She choked in the effort not to.  
  
Immediately Master Gimli and Master Legolas were on their feet, thumping Margaretta's back and offering her napkins. She waved them away, splutters turning to laughter. "No, no offence taken, Master Legolas, I assure you," she said as she caught her breath. "I am glad you like my pastries. Now, shall I go back to the story?" That she wanted to return to the tale showed how flustered this elf had gotten her.  
  
"Yes, indeed, the story," Master Gimli said as he and Master Legolas returned to their seats.  
  
"You were telling us why you needed the Nargothondian," the elf prompted.  
  
"Yes, right. Thank you, Master Elf," Margaretta began. "As I was saying, 'twas a very lucky thing the blade never sold, for there came a time when I needed it myself. You have heard a little of the Battle of Dale? I understand if not. You were both very busy with your own adventuring at the time."  
  
Dwarf and elf exchanged another of their meaningful glances. "We have heard something about it, yes," Master Gimli said.  
  
Margaretta felt like a proper fool. Of course Master Gimli would know of the Battle of Dale! Did he not originally hail from Erebor? The shopkeeper was unsure, but even if he did not, he surely had kith and kin there. One of them must have told him the tale, and he of course would tell his elf. Well, nothing for it but to keep on with the story. 


	6. chapter 6

"'Twas during the Battle of Dale that I needed the Nargothondian," Margaretta said. "For three blood-soaked days, our men and the dwarves of Erebor battled orcs and Easterlings at the foot of the Mountain. I remained here for most of that time, repairing or replacing weapons, along with my daughters and some of the other women and children, and worried about my husband."  
  
"You are married?" Master Gimli asked, startled.  
  
"I was, for seventeen years. Why do you ask?" Margaretta replied.  
  
"It surprises me. I was under the impression human women took their husband's name when they married, yet you are still Mistress Stronginthearm," the dwarf explained. In truth, neither he nor his elf understood that custom, as neither of their peoples followed it. Still, he knew humans and hobbits shared many such strange customs, and this one had always struck him as very inflexible.  
  
Margaretta nodded. "We do, normally. However, my husband and I agreed when we married that since I was to take over my father's shop, it would be bad business for me to change my name. People expect the proprietors of a place called 'Burleigh and Stronginthearm's' to be named Burleigh or Stronginthearm."  
  
Elf and dwarf nodded. It never occurred to them to wonder why Margaretta's husband had not taken over her father's business. Neither elves nor dwarves limited their women's options the way the race of Man did. Margaretta was just as content not to have to explain that her husband was a professional soldier, not a shopkeeper, and would have driven the weapons dealership straight into the ground if he'd had the running of it. Fortunately, Arturl had been aware of that, and secure enough in his manhood that the lack did not frighten him. In fact, when Master Stronginthearm retired, the men of Dale had tried to insist Arturl take over. He told them in no uncertain terms that business both baffled and bored him, and he was more than content to leave the horrid details of it to Margaretta while he enjoyed doing no more than his monthly patrol and occasionally testing her designs. Furthermore, Arturl was very proud of his brilliant wife, and anyone who did not like her running of the business was invited to take their sorry selves straight to Mordor, and go there weaponless as she was the only arms dealer in Dale. Arturl Bannerman had been a gem of a man, the only male born on Middle Earth who ever stood the slightest chance of taming Ceril Stronginthearm's wayward, stubborn daughter. Margaretta had loved him beyond belief, and missed him still.  
  
"As I was saying," Margaretta continued her story, pouring herself and her guests more tea, "most of the women and children were holed up here, with the remainder next door at the apothecary with the aged and wounded. So when word reached us on the third day that the kings had fallen and we were to evacuate to Erebor, everyone was already in one place. The evacuation went swiftly, for the most part. The small children, the wounded and aged all got away even before the foul orcs crossed into the town itself. Still, there were many women and older children remaining when the line broke and the enemy poured into Dale. Our men fought valiantly, but in the end there were simply too many to hold long enough. We needed more time, and more defenders, but we had neither."  
  
Here Margaretta paused, remembering the terror of that time. When she spoke again, it was with a much subdued voice. "I could hear the battle growing closer. Soon, I could smell it: the blood, the sweat, the foul stench of the orcs. When the fighting finally reached this street, I was dismayed to see only three defenders battling a host of the enemy. Easterlings and orcs were burning and destroying everything they could lay hands on, while my husband and his cards-night buddies cut them down like wheat. 'Twas one of the most impressive sights I've ever seen, but it was nowhere near enough. I watched my husband die on orc blades, and I feared my children and I were next. For by this time, most of the remaining women and children had fled, but there was still one group left, including my daughters and nephew. I had to defend them. I could not dishonor my husband's sacrifice by failing his children."  
  
Again, Margaretta paused, overcome with emotion. The pain of Arturl's death was still fresh, even years later. Master Legolas must have seen her unshed tears, for he touched her arm gently. "I sorrow for your loss," he said simply, his expression distant and sad. Margaretta had always wondered if elves felt anything when mortals died. Obviously, they did.  
  
Master Gimli did not know what to say, so he said nothing. Dwarf women demanded time and solitude for their grieving, and this lady shopkeeper had much of the dwarf in her. If she needed more than space, Gimli felt certain she would inform him. Otherwise, he would let her be, until she was ready to continue.  
  
In a surprisingly brief time, she was ready. Long years dealing with the public had taught her how to keep her emotions hidden until she had the privacy to deal with them. Brawny warriors did not purchase from weeping women, no matter how justified the tears.  
  
Margaretta took a deep breath and went on. "I had had training in weaponry. My father always claimed an arms dealer and designer should know how to properly wield the weapons she sold, to better detect and correct flaws BEFORE they cost a warrior his life. Arturl agreed with him. He insisted our daughters and I be able to defend ourselves when he was on patrol. I never thought to need those skills, never thought battle would come anywhere near me, but when it did, thankfully I was prepared. Well, as prepared as any unblooded fighter ever is. When the last defender fell to the enemy, right on my doorstep, I took up the Nargothondian, which was one of the last blades left in my possession at the time, and did my best to give the children time to get away. Illya, my eldest daughter, joined me in my battle, while Ana, the younger, herded the children to Erebor. My nephew Halorec wanted to join the fight, but he was much too small then. Why, the Nargothondian was bigger than he! So I gave him my dagger and charged him with keeping the path clear while Illya and I kept the enemy at bay."  
  
"Battle is a terrible business," the shopkeeper went on, "even when it is a matter of your life or theirs. I did what I had to do, fought and killed all the way to Erebor, but I hope never again to be put in that position. I sell to them, but I will never understand folk who seek out battle, who glory in it. To me, it was horrible, messy and confusing. I lost part of my soul with each life I took, even though I had no choice but to take them. I lost my innocence as well as my husband that day. I miss both."  
  
"That is a stunning tale, Mistress Stronginthearm," Master Gimli rumbled when Margaretta finished speaking. "You showed strength and determination worthy of a dwarf. You have every right to be proud of yourself and that blade, and to keep it for remembrance."  
  
"But that is not why I keep it. If that battle were all, I would have sold the sword to the first person who wanted it, yes, even taken a loss to rid myself of the memories it holds. There is more to the story, if you would like to hear it," Margaretta protested.  
  
Master Legolas and Master Gimli indulged in yet another of their looks. These two, like most long-time companions, could communicate without words. Margaretta imagined that would be annoying to others, but she was long used to the phenomenon. She ignored it until one of them spoke.  
  
"Of course we would like to hear the rest of the tale, Mistress," the elf said at last.  
  
Margaretta smiled. She expected as much. "Then you shall. But first, let me brew some more tea. We are out," she said, rising and heading toward the back room.  
  
"Bring some more of those most excellent tarts, as well!" Master Gimli called after her. Margaretta laughed. Dwarves really were amazing people. 


	7. chapter 7

Margaretta emerged from the back room with a fresh pot of tea, the rest of the blueberry tarts Master Gimli had expressed such fondness for, and a large sugar-topped cake. The dwarf was reaching for the tarts almost before the shopkeeper had the tray settled on the low table. He took five, but only handed one to Master Legolas.  
  
"Gimli!" the elf exclaimed. "You are stuffing yourself like a hobbit! You will surely eat Mistress Stronginthearm out of house and home if you continue on this way." It sounded like a scold, though Margaretta could not tell if he was serious or not. She opened her mouth to reassure them she had plenty, but Master Gimli spoke first.  
  
"Hobbits are not the only people who enjoy good food, Master Elf. Perhaps if you ate as a body is supposed to, you elves would not be so wretchedly skinny," he teased.  
  
"I would not like to be as stout as a dwarf, good Gimli. If I were, tree branches would break underneath me, and that would not do," Master Legolas retorted. From the expression on Master Gimli's face, Margaretta suspected the elf referred to an incident from their adventuring.  
  
Master Gimli's next words confirmed the shopwoman's hunch. "Bah! No self- respecting dwarf would allow himself to be talked into prancing about in trees anyway. Unfortunately, I am no self-respecting dwarf, as proven by what I put up with from you, Legolas."  
  
The elf suddenly took on a very serious expression. "Gimli, you are the most respected dwarf I have ever known," he said softly.  
  
The dwarf was not about to let his friend become sentimental, however. "You say that because you do not know enough for comparison," he laughed.  
  
"He says it because it is true, Master Dwarf," Margaretta interrupted. "And I DO have basis for comparison. I spent much time with the dwarfs during the Siege of Erebor, after the Battle of Dale. I have a very high opinion of dwarves in general, and you, sir, are widely regarded as the best of them. And from what little I have seen here today, with very good cause."  
  
The dwarf blushed bright red. "Enough of this," he said, swallowing a mouthful of tart. "You were saying there is more to your story, Mistress?"  
  
"Indeed there is, Master Dwarf, but I am not certain I will be able to tell it," the shopkeeper said.  
  
Master Gimli and Master Legolas stared at her with identical disbelieving expressions. "Why not?" the dwarf demanded.  
  
"I may have to bake more tarts," Margaretta teased, smiling to take the sting out of her words. She was a little astonished with herself, teasing heroes this way, but it felt right. This pair had a way of making Margaretta feel very comfortable around them. They had to, to get her talking about her so-called "glory days", which the shopkeeper considered a long, long way from glorious.  
  
A splutter and a cough interrupted Margaretta's musings. Master Legolas was choking on his tea in the effort not to laugh at poor Master Gimli, who in turn was laughing while he pounded his elf on the back.  
  
"Oh, I'm so sorry!" the shopwoman exclaimed, getting up and going to assist. "I should not jest like that. Please accept my apologies."  
  
"No * cough* apology * splutter* necessary, * gasp* I assure you," the elf said as he caught his breath. "Far too many people treat us with deference and awe. 'Tis good to be spoken to as WHO we are, rather than WHAT we are."  
  
"Yes, by all means, jest away, Mistress Stronginthearm," Master Gimli agreed. "But I insist Legolas take his turn as the target for your wit."  
  
Margaretta nodded. "That is fair. Though if I am to be friend enough to tease you, you cannot keep calling me 'Mistress Stronginthearm'. My given name is Margaretta. Please, use it freely."  
  
Elf and dwarf broke into matching pleased grins. "If that is the case, Mist..Margaretta, then you must also call us by our names. No more "Master Elf" or "Master Dwarf". I am Gimli, and he is Legolas. Now please, continue your story. I will try to remember to share the tarts, if you do," Gimli said.  
  
Margaretta laughed. She refilled their teacups and prepared to go on with her tale. 


	8. chapter 8

"I do not know how long we remained besieged in Erebor," Margaretta began. "It's difficult to measure the passage of time under the mountain. To me, to most of us, it felt like nothing short of forever. The dwarves were good to us, sharing everything they had unstintingly. They even tried to keep our spirits up, but it did not work, and they worried. We slept, we ate, we tended our wounded and mourned our dead---that was all there was to existence. Hope had gone right out of the people of Dale. We were lost, and broken.  
  
"Then word came of great victories to the south. Spies reported that the enemy in Dale was disheartened and confused. The generals, both dwarf and man, decided to march forth and reclaim our land. Every male who could stand and hold arms gathered together, so the leaders could see what kind of force they had and make plans. Their numbers were pitifully few, even with boys as young as eleven amoung them. Nearly two-thirds of our men had been killed or severely wounded in the Battle, and the dwarves were in no better shape. Even to my untrained eye, there was no way they could roust out the invaders, disheartened or not."  
  
Margaretta paused, remembering the sight of that tiny force assembled in the huge cavern. It had looked like half a dozen small children, preparing to confront older and much bigger bullies---too few, too small, frightened and trying not to show it, certain they would be pounded into rubble but determined to fight anyway. The sight had made her proud, and it had chilled her blood.  
  
Legolas and Gimli watched Margaretta's expression change with concern, but said nothing. They both had plenty of experience with painful memories, and knew she would continue in her own time. Soon, she did.  
  
"I remember wondering how the men planned to retake Dale with such a small force. I remember thinking they simply needed more fighters. And I remember looking around at the women as the men gathered. Some of them tended to children or wounded, but most just wandered around in a daze, like I did, or stared at the walls, crying. They needed something to hearten them, something to rally around. Something to fight for."  
  
Margaretta took a sip of now-cold tea. Then she took a deep breath and went on. "I had had my fill of battle by that point. More than my fill, actually. I never wanted to see the Nargothondian again, nor wield any sword at all, for any reason. I was even seriously considering getting out of the weapons business altogether, selling Master Burleigh my half of the shop and moving south to be with my parents. But as I watched that pathetic force of men, proposing to do battle and reclaim our home, and the women who so badly needed something to do, I got a flash of the blindingly obvious. I took up the Nargothondian once more, and I turned to address the women of Dale.  
  
" 'Dale is my home,' I told them. 'I have never known another, and never want to. Now it is in the hands of the enemy. Our husbands died, mine included, our fathers and brothers and sons all died to keep it from them, but they took it anyway, and drove us out. Now, our remaining men propose to take it back. That is a brave and worthy thing, but there are not enough of them to accomplish it. More will die, and they will die in vain if they do not have more fighters. All of us are trained to defend ourselves against rapists and thieves. What are these invaders but rapists and thieves on a large scale? They raped away our peace, they stole our town. I do not mean to let them get away with it. I do not mean to let my Arturl's death be in vain. I DO mean to take this blade, and join our men in taking back what is ours!'  
  
"The women said nothing, but they were paying attention. Obviously they needed more persuasion. I have always been told I talk too much, so I put the skill to good use. 'Will you all truly sit here and let our men die?' I asked. 'Do you really intend to leave Dale in the hands of the enemy? I do not. One more blade will not make much difference,' and at this point, I was not surprised to see Illya take up her blade and stand beside me. I smiled at her, my brave girl, and spoke on. 'Two more blades will not make much difference. But a hundred more? Five hundred? A thousand? That will not only make a difference, it could mean our victory! So, will any of you fight with me for our home? Or will Illya and I march alone?'  
  
"Again, the women remained silent. Then, Mistress Poundingherbs, the apothecary's wife and probably the woman I have disliked most in all my life, stood and spoke. 'For once, Mistress Stronginthearm speaks sense,' she said." Margaretta grinned. "She'd always disliked me as completely as I disliked her. Perhaps because our shops were so close together, we saw too much of each other. Perhaps we simply had incompatible personalities, but in any case, we never got on. So when she stood up with me, clutching her fallen son's sword, the rest of the women realized we were right. One by one, they all stood up, holding blades that belonged to lost husbands, fathers, brothers, or sons. Girls too young to begin their flows and grandmothers older than I took up arms and stood with us. In the end, every able-bodied woman who could be spared decided to fight. Personality coflicts, family feuding, gossip mongering, all the petty ways women hurt each other were set aside in order to take back our home. I was so proud of them."  
  
Margaretta became choked up, and had to pause. Gimli stood, handing her a large handkerchief. As she wiped her eyes, he said, "You have every right to be proud of them, and yourself too. Not everyone could do such a thing."  
  
"I did not know human women were so valiant," Legolas said, his voice soft.  
  
"We're not," Margaretta replied. "Unless we're backed into a corner or our dander is up. Right then, we were both. But I didn't do anything special, just said what needed saying. They're the ones who put aside their fears to act."  
  
"Most people are more afraid to speak than act, Margaretta," Legolas pointed out, using her name for the first time. Once again, the shopkeeper blushed and hid behind her teacup. Her name sounded much different coming from Elvish lips, more musical. Then again, everything sounded more musical in an Elvish accent.  
  
"Well, I still had more speaking yet to do," she said once she'd regained her composure. "We still had to tell the men what we'd decided, and none of us were foolish enough to believe they would be happy about it. Still, our choice was made, and once a Dale woman's mind is made up, it STAYS made up. Sooner or later, she gets her way."  
  
"Sounds like dwarf women," Gimli said dryly. "Sounds like elf women, too, come to think of it. One, in particular," he went on, shooting Legolas a pointed look. The elf ignored the jibe.  
  
"Perhaps all women are similar in many ways," he said instead.  
  
"You are probably correct," Margaretta agreed. "But in any case, we still had to tell the men. Since it was my idea, it was my place to inform them. I can't say I looked forward to it, but it had to be done, and I had to do it. Dale needed us." 


	9. chapter 9

"So how did the men react when you told them you would accompany them?" Gimli asked.  
  
"Badly. At first, they laughed at me, saying I was the only woman in Dale who wanted to be a man," Margaretta replied, remembered indignation coloring her cheeks. Gimli and Legolas both bristled visibly on her behalf. No elf or dwarf would dream of being so disrespectful!  
  
"So of course, I went and got the others, to prove I was neither alone nor making it up. The men saw their wives and daughters and sisters, and even mothers in a few cases, and immediately protested. The Mayor ranted on about 'the Weaker Sex' for awhile until Lacey Burleigh, Master Burleigh's sister, pinned him down with one of the moves she'd used on her brothers growing up. She'd had that sort of childhood. Most of us had.  
  
"Then Mistress Poundingherbs pointed out what I'd said to the women, about being trained to deal with rapists and thieves. I wasn't very happy to have her claiming credit for my arguments, but if it quieted the men, then fine. Questions of ability settled, the men tried next to simply forbid. You can imagine how well that was received! The argument looked to be getting out of hand, which was the last thing we needed. Little Renna Silversmith finally put an end to that nonsense. I've always loved Renna; she stands barely chest high to me but rules her huge husband and four equally burly boys with an iron hand. She marched right up to her husband and announced that either she went with him, or after him, but either way she was going. And if he continued to be foolish, he would find himself cooking his own meals, washing his own clothes and sleeping on the couch for the next six months. IF she deigned to let him back into her house at all.  
  
"The men looked around, and every one saw a similar fate in store for him. They weren't fools; they didn't want to battle orcs only to fight with their wives right afterward. And if they didn't let us go with them, we'd follow them anyway. Besides, there was the problem of sheer numbers....  
  
"In the end, the generals had no choice. They had to delay the battle for awhile, to make new plans, but they agreed to our 'mad idea'. Mistress Poundingherbs dragged me to the council, but I spent it keeping my mouth shut. I know weapons and business, not tactics. As soon as I could, I excused myself to find my bed. But I did not sleep much that night.  
  
"The next day dawned far too quickly. I was nowhere near the only one to have slept badly the night before. Men and women both were blearily eyed and clinging to their tea. Then the generals sounded muster, and bleariness fled. All too quickly, ranks were formed and we were on our way.  
  
"I looked around at all my friends, neighbors, rivals. Everyone I'd ever known was arrayed in the huge cavern, either to march or to wish the marchers well. An old dwarf woman gave us all a blessing,"---Gimli looked very startled, but did not interrupt----" and we headed out.  
  
"Illya marched with me. Ana stayed behind to help with the wounded, for that was where her talents lay. She also had to keep Halorec from following us, which I heard later was quite the chore. As Illya and I walked, she smiled at me.  
  
" 'Frightened?' she asked.  
  
" 'Terrified,' I admitted. I don't like to lie to children, even when they're more grown than not.  
  
"She took my hand and squeezed it. 'Don't worry, Mother,' she said. 'I'm here.' My daughter reassured me. I'd always thought things were supposed to be the other way 'round, but I was grateful for her confidence. Then we spoke no more, for we needed our breath for marching. And later, for fighting.  
  
Margaretta paused, her eyes distant and unreadable. She took a sip of tea, lost in the past. The silence stretched. Legolas and Gimli glanced at each other, wondering if they should say something. Then the shopkeeper found her tongue.  
  
" 'Tis a very odd thing, battle. Running away from Dale, it was the worst thing I could imagine. It was dirty, and smelly, and loud, and it hurt. Marching back in, none of that seemed to matter. Oh, I knew it would still be dirty, and smelly, and loud, and it would still hurt. But my thoughts were focused on orcs, sitting in MY shop and fighting each other with MY blades. I thought of Artul, thought of some Easterling invader sitting in his chair, smoking his pipe. And I grew angry. I wanted my home back. I didn't care what I had to go through to get it.  
  
"We marched quickly, for everyone shared my determination. The dwarves no less than the men, as their home was also threatened. But we of Dale burned, and that gave us strength. When we reached the enemy, we fought with a fury, and many of them died.  
  
"It was a resounding victory for us. We routed the enemy completely, drove them forever from our home. The battle was different for me on a personal level, as well. It felt....well, not cleaner, but maybe more noble. No less horrifying, or disgusting, but less shameful. I think it had something to do with fighting for home, rather than merely to flee with skins intact. In any case, I felt very different, standing victorious in the main square with everyone else, than I had huddled in Erebor under siege."  
  
Again Margaretta stopped. She closed her eyes, took a very deep breath, opened them and said "That is, until the cost was counted. It was a resounding victory, yes, but not without our share of dead and wounded. Illya was amoung them. We had been separated during the fighting, and I worried until I found her. Her wounds were..," the shopkeeper couldn't say it. She breathed deeply, and tried again. "She was covered in blood. My baby girl died in my arms. She never regained consciousness."  
  
Then Margaretta broke down completely, and could not go on. Talking about Arturl's death had been painful enough, but not impossible. She knew the risks of marriage to a soldier. She'd expected to outlive her husband, but a woman should not outlive her children. It was not right. To remember Illya as she was then, pale, still and cold, hurt beyond imagining. Though she tried, Margaretta could not stop the tears.  
  
The handkerchief handed to her this time was of fine Elvish make. She wiped her face and slowly got herself back under control. "I'm sorry," she muttered, far too embarrassed to look at her guests. "It's just..." she trailed off, not sure what to say.  
  
"Some hurts do not heal," Legolas offered quietly, placing a comforting hand on Margaretta's shoulder. "We have all lost much to the Enemy."  
  
"There is no shame in mourning the dead, Margaretta," Gimli pointed out. The shopkeeper smiled gratefully.  
  
"Well, that is the story, anyway," she said once she could trust herself to speak. "That is the reason I display the Nargothondian, but will not sell it. I keep it for the people of Dale, so they can look at it and maybe remember the time we put aside our little differences and fought together for our town. It is a symbol of our unity, and our freedom." 


	10. chapter 10

"A worthy symbol, Mistress Stronginthearm!" Gimli boomed, raising his teacup in salute.  
  
"Margaretta," the shopkeeper corrected automatically. She returned the salute, but she was paying more attention to Legolas. The elf had a strange non-expression on his face. He was staring at the Nargothondian, and the tips of his ears trembled.  
  
"Master Elf?" Margaretta asked, suddenly concerned. She didn't know much about elves. He could be sick. She glanced at Gimli, but he did not seem worried.  
  
"It is Legolas, as we agreed, remember?" he replied, giving her his full attention. "Thank you for telling us your story," he continued, his smile soft and sad. "It could not have been easy for you."  
  
"It wasn't," the shopkeeper agreed. "But now I think on it, I feel better. I'd never held much with talking things to death, but.." she shrugged. "I feel better now."  
  
"Grief should not be kept inside. It eats away the soul," Legolas said seriously. He knew what he was talking about. He'd watched elves die of grief.  
  
"Well, no souls will be eaten in my establishment. Only tarts!" Margaretta said, laughing.  
  
"I thought 'twas Legolas's turn to be teased," Gimli protested.  
  
"It is, but I could not resist. My apologies, Gimli," Margaretta smiled.  
  
"Harrumph! If you are too awestruck to tease him, then I shall simply have to do so myself," the dwarf huffed. Gimli glanced around for suitable to ammunition. His eyes twinkled, and a tiny, sly smile shaped his lips as his gaze settled on the Nargothondian. Legolas followed his dwarf's gaze, and groaned. He knew what was coming.  
  
Sure enough, Gimli said, "Master Elf! You still have not chosen that gift you so badly need. It would not do for you to return to your lady empty handed. And I am certain Margaretta needs some patronage, as you took up her whole afternoon with storytelling. Since the Nargothondian is out of the question, you, my friend, have some shopping to do."  
  
"Gimli, please," Legolas began. Gimli was having none of that.  
  
"Come now, Legolas! Surely it is not so difficult for an elf to choose a gift for his lady. Did you not tell me as we entered that a blade is more appropriate for her than jewelry? There are blades here aplenty. Pick one!" To Margaretta, he said, "Elves have no clue how to choose regard gifts. He will need help. Much help."  
  
Margaretta could not help but laugh. Legolas looked trapped, and thoroughly put out. He stood, and stared down at the dwarf in what was supposed to be an intimidating manner. It only made Margaretta laugh harder.  
  
"You just will not let this go until I chose something, will you?" Legolas sighed.  
  
"Absolutely not!" Gimli chortled. "And even then, I shall still most likely jest at your expense."  
  
Legolas glanced skyward in resignation. Then he smiled down at his dwarf and shook his head ruefully. He knew when he was bested. "What would you recommend, my friend?"  
  
"That one!" Gimli immediately replied. He pointed to the sword next to the Nargothondian, the one he'd been admiring while Margaretta prepared tea. "It is perfect."  
  
Margaretta saw where Gimli was pointing, and stopped laughing. She gave them both a long, searching look. Then she went over to the wall, took down the sword in question, and handed it silently to Legolas.  
  
The elf stared at the shopkeeper for a moment before taking the sword. He inspected it carefully. It was obviously used. The blade showed wear, but nothing some attention would not remedy. Legolas ran a thumb over its edge, and got cut. He tested the balance, and found it exquisite. The sword was simply adorned, though a bit light for his taste. Gimli was right. It was perfect, even though it was not new.  
  
Not new. Obviously used. Hanging right next to the Nargothondian. A suspicion formed. "Who did this belong to, Margaretta?" Legolas asked quietly.  
  
The shopkeeper inspected the sword as though seeing it for the first time. "That one?" she asked unnecessarily. "That was Illya's."  
  
Suspicion confirmed. "I cannot take this from you," Legolas whispered.  
  
"You can buy it from me. It is for sale. I have better remembrances of my daughter," Margaretta retorted. The elf looked about to argue further, when the door banged open.  
  
"Aunt 'Retta! I'm home! I got that wire you wanted! And some apples! Why's the shop closed? What's for sup...." a bellowing whirlwind burst into the shop. The whirlwind became a gangly boy, all knees and elbows. Neither elf nor dwarf was a good judge of human children's ages, but this one seemed just beginning the journey to manhood. He stopped midsentence and stared at them. "Who are you?" he demanded.  
  
"Halorec! That is no way to talk to my guests! They are Master Gimli and Master Legolas of the Fellowship of the Ring," Margaretta chided. She turned to Gimli and Legolas. "Please forgive my nephew his insolence. He usually has better manners," she said, giving Halorec a meaningful look.  
  
The boy was not impressed. Stories of the olden days just didn't interest him, unless someone he knew personally had been involved. Thus, he knew very little of the Fellowship. Still, he could tell he'd be in trouble if he didn't try to be polite, so he mumbled something that might have been "Sorry, pleased to meet you," before going back to staring at these strangers.  
  
When he noticed the sword Legolas held, he bristled visibly. "Why are you messing about with my cousin's sword?" he asked belligerently.  
  
"Halorec!" Margaretta exclaimed, ready to give her nephew the rough side of her tongue.  
  
Gimli saw a storm brewing and gestured for Margaretta to lean in so he could speak quietly to her. "Legolas will handle the boy."  
  
Surely enough, Halorec's attitude had not fazed the elf at all. "I intend to purchase it, as a gift for a friend," he answered mildly.  
  
Halorec looked Legolas up and down. He had heard elves were valiant warriors, but he wanted to be sure whoever got Illya's sword deserved it. "What kind of friend?" he wanted to know.  
  
"A lady," Legolas began before being interrupted.  
  
"A Lady?!? I don't know that I want a needle-pointing lady to have my cousin's sword," the boy sneered.  
  
"Mithsewwen is hardly a 'needle-pointing lady'. When first I met her, she was pointing an arrow at my Fellowship," Legolas informed Halorec, with a smile for Gimli at the memory. "She defended Lorien all three times Sauron attacked, only succumbing when she took a blow meant for another."  
  
"When she saved the Lady Galadriel's life nearly at the expense of her own, you mean. Tell it as we were told, Master Elf," Gimli put in. He had developed a very high opinion of Legolas's lady-friend when he learned of that. It was one reason he teased his elf so much about her.  
  
Now that impressed Halorec. Even he had heard stories of the Lady of the Golden Wood, who sailed away West a long time ago, taking the beauty of the Elves with her. Besides, he knew Sauron meant orcs, so that meant... "Your lady killed orcs?" he asked. Legolas nodded. "Lots of orcs?" Halorec pestered. The elf nodded again. "Y'know, Illya killed a hundred orcs with that before she died. If your lady killed orcs, too, then I guess you can buy it," the boy finally decided.  
  
"I thank you," Legolas replied seriously.  
  
Margaretta wanted to die of embarrassment. Gimli was having a hard time suppressing a laugh at her discomfort. The shopkeeper shot him a glare before turning her attention to her wayward nephew.  
  
"Now that THAT is settled," she said with barely concealed sarcasm that went right over Halorec's head, "why don't you, young man, go upstairs and begin washing potatoes for supper?"  
  
"But Aunt! I still want to know why the shop was closed when I came home," the lad protested.  
  
"Your aunt was telling us the story of the Nargothondian, and her role in the Battle of Dale," Gimli spoke before Margaretta's thinning patience with the boy snapped completely. He had no wish to listen to the tongue-lashing the lad had coming.  
  
"Did she?" Halorec asked, surprised. His aunt usually refused to talk about those days, though he never tired of hearing about them. "About time she told that story! She was brilliant! You should have seen her. She came in here and tore the sword off the wall and struck down SEVEN ORCS with one blow and..."  
  
"HALOREC!" Margaretta interrupted. Once she had his attention, she gestured upstairs. "The potatoes? Else we will not have any dinner. Though if you move now, I may have time to bake those apples with honey and brown sugar."  
  
Like most boys his age, Halorec thought primarily with his stomach. The threat of no dinner coupled with the promise of his favorite dessert pried him away from these fascinating guests as nothing else would have. He was upstairs almost before Margaretta finished speaking.  
  
"He seems a lively lad," Gimli commented.  
  
"He is. Too lively for his own good, sometimes. Raising a boy is very different from what I was used to with my daughters," Margaretta answered.  
  
"That reminds me, you never told us what happened to your other daughter," the dwarf said.  
  
"Ana? She married some Ranger I'd met twice and moved to Minas Tirith. She writes often, though. Last I heard, he'd turned blacksmith and they were expecting their third child," she said, smiling softly.  
  
"It is good you know joy, as well as pain," Legolas commented. The elf was still holding Illya's sword. Margaretta looked at it and sighed.  
  
"I would like to give you that as a gift, but I am afraid I sorely need the sale. What think you a fair price?" she said.  
  
"No, 'tis quite proper for a shopkeeper to require payment for her goods. Besides, you already gave me a gift, in your story," the elf replied.  
  
Margaretta smiled, flattered. Once negotiations began, however, she showed herself a shrewd businesswoman. Legolas also was no novice at haggling; being the son of a king he'd had experience. Gimli settled back to watch the fun.  
  
Soon, a price was agreed upon, the sword scabbarded and wrapped and handed over to Legolas. Margaretta turned to Gimli. "And what about you, Master Dwarf? Do you need anything from my shop?"  
  
Gimli made a show of thinking for a moment. He browsed around the store while Legolas smiled indulgently behind his back. Eventually, the dwarf noticed a fine display of belt knives. "I may purchase a belt knife, as I am notoriously hard on mine. But only if you remember to call me Gimli," he said.  
  
"Gimli went through three of them in the Fellowship," Legolas put in, "and five more since. 'Tis a bit of a joke between us now."  
  
Margaretta grinned. "Well, Gimli, these are the finest knives available, of a new design, and will stand up to the hardest use," the shopkeeper said.  
  
"In that case, I will buy two. My father's name-day is coming up, and he is even worse on knives than I am," Gimli laughed. He selected two off the tray and the haggling began again.  
  
All too soon, however, business was at an end, and the elf and the dwarf prepared to leave. Gimli bowed to Margaretta, took her hand and kissed it. "You are truly a lady of intelligence and strength, as well as beauty. I fully enjoyed our stay here today. Thank you for your goods, your story, and your hospitality. We will meet again, so that I may have more of those most excellent tarts."  
  
Margaretta laughed. "You are most welcome, Gimli. I sincerely hope your father has a happy name-day, and enjoys his knife. May they serve you both well. I look forward to our next meeting."  
  
Once Gimli relinquished the shopkeeper's hand, Legolas claimed it. He kissed it gently, a mere brush of the lips before releasing it. Margaretta shivered, and blushed from bosom to hairline. "It has been a true pleasure, Margaretta," the elf said gently. "Elen sila lumenn omentielvo."  
  
"I'm sorry, I don't speak Elvish," Margaretta babbled. "What does that mean?"  
  
" 'A star shines on the hour of our meeting'," the elf replied with a smile.  
  
"That it does, Legolas, that it does," Margaretta agreed. "But I am afraid I must shoo you out now. If Halorec is not fed soon, he will become a rampaging monster, and I do not wish to deal with that. It has been a most enjoyable afternoon. Thank you for coming here."  
  
"You are very welcome, Margaretta. Come, Gimli. Let us visit the Crown and Hammer, and see if their wine cellar is as good as it once was," the elf said.  
  
"An excellent idea, Master Elf," Gimli replied. "Farewell, good Margaretta."  
  
"Farewell, Gimli. Farewell, Legolas. I hope your lady appreciates your gift," Margaretta said.  
  
"I am certain she will," Legolas replied. "Fare thee well, Margaretta of the Blade."  
  
With that, the elf and the dwarf left Burleigh and Stronginthearm's. Margaretta went upstairs to cook supper, humming happily. The day had turned out much better than she ever expected. She returned to her life with a lightened heart, thinking herself blessed to have met and entertained such remarkable people. 


	11. Epilogue

Over the years, Margaretta Stronginthearm and Gimli, son of Gloin, became great friends. Though the dwarf lived in the Glittering Caves, he did indeed have kin in Erebor. He visited them often, and every time he would make a point to stop in Dale to see Margaretta. The two spent many pleasant afternoons together over tea (or more often ale) and stories. Gimli taught Margaretta to swear in dwarfish, and she always made a point of having a supply of blueberry tarts for him to enjoy. She also sold him many belt knives, for he was as hard on them as he had once claimed.  
  
Though she got news of him regularly from Gimli, she saw Legolas only once more. It was many years later, when Margaretta was very old and long retired. Nephew Halorec now ran Burleigh and Stronginthearm's, with help from his daughter, Illya. Though Margaretta continued to design weapons occasionally, she was content to spend most of her days outside the shop, people-watching and letting the sun warm her aching bones. 'Twas there that the elf found her, dozing quietly.  
  
"Margaretta," he said softly, gently touching his aged friend's arm. She awoke with a start.  
  
"Who?" she demanded, glancing around. She saw Legolas. "So, you return at last, Master Elf. About time."  
  
"It is Legolas, remember?" the elf said. He knew very old humans sometimes lost their memories, and he worried that had happened to Margaretta.  
  
"I remember everything, Legolas," Margaretta informed him. "Why have you not come to visit me before this?"  
  
"Time passes differently for elves, my lady. I did not realize how long it has been. My apologies," the elf said, bestowing his best smile on the former shopkeeper.  
  
She obediently blushed. "You still make me feel like an untried maiden, Legolas," she accused.  
  
The elf laughed. "Again, I apologize. To me, you are forever beautiful."  
  
"Flatterer. You did not come here to shower me with compliments. I presume Gimli told you I have grown old, and sick?" Margaretta asked. The elf nodded. "My mortality does not disturb you?"  
  
Legolas hesitated. "It does," he admitted finally. "But I could not let you go without talking once more. I truly do value your telling me your story. I can only imagine how painful it was."  
  
"Pshaw! Time heals all wounds, and that was a very long time ago, young elf," the old woman countered.  
  
"Young elf? Margaretta, I am your elder by several thousand years," Legolas laughed.  
  
"You may have seen more seasons, but it is I who am old. You said yourself, time passes differently for elves. It can take an elf decades to experience what humans live through daily. Trust me, to my eyes, you are young," Margaretta explained.  
  
Legolas sighed. "Lately, I do not feel young," he said softly.  
  
"This new Age sits heavily on you?" Margaretta asked, her voice concerned.  
  
Legolas nodded. "Most of my people have left this land," he said sadly. "I think, when Aragorn dies, I too will seek the sea."  
  
"Gimli will miss you. I would say I will miss you, but I think I will leave this world before you," she said matter-of-factly. Legolas said nothing, merely looked sad. Then, Margaretta did what she had wanted to all those years ago, but had not had the courage to try. She reached up and gently touched the elf's face, ran gnarled fingers through his hair. "Middle Earth will be much the poorer without elves in it," she said, dropping her hand into her lap.  
  
Legolas smiled. "Some remnant may remain, though I doubt it. Still, not everything will leave with us. Hobbits and dwarves are still here."  
  
"Dwarves do not come out of the Mountain as often as they did when I was young. And I have still never met a hobbit. No, the Age of Man has driven the wonder from the world," Margaretta sighed.  
  
"There is wonder of a different sort, now," the elf protested.  
  
"Oh, ignore me. It is only the ramblings of an old woman who's time has passed. Let us talk of happier things. Did your lady like her sword?" the former shopkeeper changed the subject.  
  
"She did, especially when I told her the tale. I always meant to bring Mithsewwen to meet you but.." he shrugged.  
  
"I would have liked to meet her. Ah, well, done is done. Tell me what else you have been up to. I hear you have set up a home in Ithilien?"  
  
Legolas nodded. Before he could begin to tell his old friend about his new home, a young maiden came out of the shop, bearing a laden tea tray. "Do you need anything, Nana?" she asked as she set the tray down on a side table. Then she saw the elf.  
  
"No, Katerina, dear," Margaretta replied, but the girl was not listening. She was far too busy staring at Legolas. The old woman saw her expression and had to suppress a giggle. "Katerina? You are staring at Legolas, of the Fellowship of the Ring. He is an old and dear friend of mine and Uncle Gimli's."  
  
"Uncle Gimli?" Legolas asked in an undertone.  
  
"Well, the children couldn't very well call him plainly, and he would not have 'Master Dwarf', so 'Uncle Gimli' it was," Margaretta explained. She raised her voice so the maiden could hear. "Katerina? Would you please get us another cup? Katerina? KATERINA!"  
  
The girl jumped. "Yes, Nana?" she asked, still staring at Legolas. Margaretta repeated her request. The child bobbed a curtsey and disappeared back into the house.  
  
Margaretta turned to Legolas. "She is a good girl, my great-granddaughter, but somewhat flighty. She writes very good poetry, though. She lets me read it sometimes. I suspect her work will be full of blonde elves for the foreseeable future."  
  
The elf laughed. "You finally got your jest in, Margaretta. Too bad Gimli was not here to witness it."  
  
"I will tell him when next I see him. Or you will," the old woman said. Then, her great-granddaughter reappeared, cup in hand. The maiden could not take her eyes off Legolas, but she managed to get the cup onto the tray without mishap. Katerina bobbed another curtsey before going back in. Then she went up to her room and began to write stories of what it would be like if a girl like her joined the Fellowship, back in the olden days. Of course, she would save the day and Legolas would fall in love with her...Katerina got lost in her fantasy until suppertime, and often for many days afterward.  
  
Legolas and Margaretta spent a pleasant afternoon discussing many things. They traded stories of Gimli. Legolas told her of Ithilien. Margaretta told him of her family. When the sun began to set, the elf noticed his friend had fallen asleep. He gently kissed the old woman on her forehead. "Fare thee well, Margaretta of the Blade," he whispered.  
  
"Fare thee well, Legolas," Margaretta replied.  
  
"I thought you asleep," the elf said, startled.  
  
"The elderly sleep lightly, young elf. But I think it is time for me to sleep deeply in truth. I am glad you came back to see me once again," the old woman said.  
  
"As am I," Legolas answered. "I will let you rest now, Margaretta. Farewell."  
  
"Farewell, Legolas. I have always treasured having met you," Margaretta said.  
  
"And I, you," the elf replied. Then, with a soft smile, he took his leave.  
  
Margaretta Stronginthearm died peacefully six weeks later, surrounded by family and friends. She did get the chance to see Gimli once more, and told him about how she finally teased Legolas. The dwarf had a good laugh at his elf's expense. It remained a cherished memory long after he sailed West.  
  
The Nargothondian hung in the shop until all who remembered its worth were long gone. The shop changed hands several times, and the blade was lost. Many years later, legends sprung up of the magic sword of Margaretta of the Blade. Hidden for centuries, it would be found only by a woman of great courage, in a time of great darkness, and would bring the wonder back into the world. It has never been found.  
  
Author's note---Tolkien didn't have much to say about the Battle of Dale, but here's what little he mentioned, for reference.  
  
"At the same time as the great armies besieged Minas Tirith a host of the allies of Sauron that had long threatened the borders of King Brand crossed the River Carnen, and Brand was driven back to Dale. There he had the aid of the Dwarves of Erebor; and there was a great battle at the Mountain's feet. It lasted three days, but in the end both King Brand and King Dain Ironfoot were slain, and the Easterlings had the victory. But they could not take the Gate, and many, both Dwarves and Men, took refuge in Erebor, and there withstood a siege.  
  
"When news came of the great victories in the South, then Sauron's northern army was filled with dismay; and the besieged came forth and routed them, and the remnant fled into the East and troubled Dale no more."  
  
----"The Return of the King", J.R.R. Tolkien, appendix B, page 1069 


End file.
